


It’s (Not) Too Late (For You And Your White Horse)

by FalconFate



Series: Voltron: The Horse!AU [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Admittedly unrealistic happy endings to do with trauma, HOO BOY THIS IS GONNA BE FUN, Horse AU, Horses, I’m so excited, Lions as horses, M/M, PTSD, SO, a little bit of projection?? i suppose??, ahhhh, but i want shiro to be happy, he needs a break, here it is, my season 7 emotions, plus my riding emotions, supportive barn family, working through trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-08-13
Packaged: 2019-06-26 05:11:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15656433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FalconFate/pseuds/FalconFate
Summary: Shiro knew it was never gonna be simple, never gonna be easy.But he wanted to fly again.





	1. I am a Dreamer

**Author's Note:**

> OH MY GOD YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW EXCITED I AM. I am very excited. Please enjoy.

_Fog swirled around him, dappling the brilliant moonlight. Moisture weighed down his hair, condensed on his arms, chilled him to the bone. A horse neighed, familiar yet strange, echoing in the mist until he had no idea what direction it could be coming from._

* * *

Shiro was itching to jump.

...which was insane, because the last time he’d even seen Keith jump, Shiro’s throat closed up and his heart started pounding and spots danced in his eyes.

He talked to Ulaz about it.

“I want to jump,” Shiro told him, looking at his feet. “I remember what it was like… it’s like remembering how to fly, but being terrified of heights. I miss it, but even watching someone else—it scares the shit out of me.”

Ulaz scrutinized him carefully. “Well,” he said slowly, “there’s nothing stopping you from trying again. It would be a lot of work, a lot of time, and most of all a lot of courage… but if we start small, and slow, we could build up your confidence again. I’ve seen it happen before.”

Shiro looked up, wide-eyed. “But what if… what if I can’t do it? What if I see the jump and black out?”

“You do trot poles with Queenie, don’t you?” Ulaz asked. When Shiro nodded, Ulaz smiled and continued, “So it’s not necessarily the jump that’s the issue. Are you going to the barn tomorrow?”

“Bright and early,” Shiro confirmed.

“I’ll go with you. I’ve thought of something I’d like to try…”

* * *

Shiro was not on Queenie. He kind of wished he was; she was steady, and reassuring, and safe, and everything he needed. But Ulaz wanted to make sure that Shiro only associated positive experiences with her, so he was riding one of the Meadow’s schoolies, a big gray named Castle.

And besides, Shiro wasn’t sure that Queenie had ever jumped before. He certainly didn’t want to be the one to find out.

Castle was a good horse, too. Shiro took note of everything about him as they warmed up. His walk was lazy and needed encouragement, but at Shiro’s insistence he kept a working pace. His trot was springy, but not bouncy. He had a languid, lumbering canter, akin to what Shiro imagined a bear’s to be. Perhaps he couldn’t turn on his haunches as on a dime, or spring into a canter from a standstill, but he was honest and steady, which was exactly what Shiro needed.

Ulaz watched from the rail. Coran was teaching a lesson at the far end of the ring; one of Lance’s nieces was riding another schoolie, Plachu, the spunky roan morgan.

Shiro had about a third of the arena to himself. At the top of his section, just off of the rail so that he had room to warm up, were a pair of standards, and between them a pole lying lifeless on the ground.

Ulaz had told him to warm up, and ignore everything in the ring that wasn’t in his way. He didn’t even mention the pseudo-jump—no doubt as a tactic to help Shiro ignore it. And yet, try as he might, Shiro couldn’t help himself from eyeing it in his peripheral as he passed it, sneaking glances even though it made his stomach clench in an unpleasant way.

“Is he warm?” Ulaz asked suddenly, shattering Shiro’s gradual mental dive into _scaryscaryscary._

“Oh! Uh, yeah, h-he is,” Shiro replied, wincing at the slight stutter in his voice.

Ulaz frowned. “Alright then.” He gestured to the pole. “Canter over that. Steer him to the center and keep your eyes up, and get in two point. Find a point and focus on it. Maybe one of those trees on the hill, or the fence, whatever you can keep your eyes on.”

Shiro took a shaky breath and nodded, adjusting his reins. Ulaz frowned at him. “Breathe,” he reminded. Shiro took a deep breath, even though his throat felt tight and his fingers shook.

Such a simple thing, and it seemed to take an eternity. Shiro guided Castle back to the rail, just on the far side of the pole, and picked up a trot. Trotting down the rail, he noticed Lance’s niece riding Plachu through a spook, laughing and teasing the horse when he stood stock still, snorting at a leaf. As he turned across the arena, Shiro asked Castle for a canter; he was crisply aware of each stride, time slowing down so that he knew exactly which hoof left the ground or hit the ground. One stride, two strides, three strides, and with the fourth they’d returned to the rail; one stride, two strides, three strides, four strides, and with the fifth Castle turned to the pole.

Shiro entirely forgot Ulaz’s instructions. He rose halfway into half-seat and froze. His fingers were stiff on the reins. His gaze zeroed in on the pole, zooming and enhancing and cutting everything out until only the pole remained. He forgot to breathe; his heart hammered in his chest, his throat closed up, everything in his body screamed _STOP_ but he wasn’t stopping—

—and suddenly he was on the other side of the pole, leaning low over Castle’s white mane, gasping for breath between strangled sobs.

A hand squeezed his knee, and Shiro was dimly aware of a voice buzzing in his ear, but it was drowned out by a dull ringing. But slowly, gradually, the ringing faded, and Ulaz’s voice broke through the static, reminding him to breathe, in, and out, and in, and out.

When Shiro’s throat finally unplugged itself, he slowly sat up, rubbing his face. “That was awful,” he said conversationally.

“How do you feel about trying again?” Ulaz asked him.

Shiro pulled his hands down his face, glaring at the far hillside. “I want to,” he muttered. “I want to jump again. I want to get over this. But I don’t know—”

“I do,” Ulaz interrupted. “We’re going to do this again. But this time I’m going to remind you to look up. And don’t start where you started last time, you had too much time to psych yourself out. Start there,” he pointed to where Shiro had rejoined the rail the second time, “pick up your canter as soon as you can, and when you turn… focus on that tree. The one with the patch of leaves missing.”

“That was Keith’s fault,” Shiro murmured, taking note of the tree. It was an average oak tree, except for the chunk of bare branches almost exactly in the center of the leaves.

“Then we’ll call it the Keith Tree,” Ulaz decided. “Now go. Get into jumping position when you pick up your canter.”

Shiro trotted to the rail where Ulaz had directed, and picked up a canter as soon as Castle seemed balanced. He rose into jumping position, far more balanced than he had been previously. Castle turned to the pole, and Shiro’s attention zeroed in on it again, his vision tunnelling—

“Shiro! The Keith Tree!”

 _Right._ Shiro looked up, and locked his gaze onto the patch of missing leaves. He took a deep breath as Castle’s lumbering strides carried him over the pole without so much as a chip.

“Keep going!” Ulaz called. “Keep your eyes up. Actually, just keep looking at that tree as you come down the longside. Stay in two-point, keep your pace…” He rattled off other reminders, and Shiro pointedly ignored him as he vaulted over the rail.

Following Ulaz’s directions, as Shiro turned onto the longside again, he locked his gaze onto the tree, pressing Castle gently with his inside leg to keep him on the rail. He focused on the tree as Castle turned to the pole, breathing in on one stride, breathing out with the next, breathing in—

—and then it happened. As Shiro exhaled, his eyes never leaving the tree, Castle rose on sudden, glorious wings, and long-forgotten instincts guided Shiro’s arms forward to let the massive gray have his head, and his balance never faltered.

For a brief moment stretched to infinity, Shiro and Castle were one being, suspended in the air. A huge grin scrawled itself onto Shiro’s face, and still his eyes never left that damned tree.

Castle landed and Shiro inhaled again, grinning like mad. Wild whoops caught his attention, and he saw Keith, Lance, Hunk, Pidge, and Allura at the rail, cheering enthusiastically.

Shiro laughed, and caught sight of Ulaz with a rare, wide smile. “So what helped the most?” Ulaz asked.

“Definitely the tree,” Shiro answered, still grinning. His face was starting to hurt, but he didn’t _care;_ he hadn’t been this happy in a long time. “Actually,” he said louder, twisting in the saddle to point an accusing finger at Keith, “it was _your_ damned tree!”

“You’re welcome!” Keith called back, cackling when Allura gave him a smack upside the head.

Ulaz nodded. “Good, good… want to do it again?”

“ _Hell yes._ ”


	2. Fight to Have the Upper Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand it starts!! huehuehue

_He heard the hoofbeats of a galloping horse, and another neigh that filled his heart with longing and loss. The fog parted, just enough to see the stars above him, brilliant glowing pinpricks against the velvet midnight sky. The stars began to move, spinning around him and picking up speed until they became long white streaks, descending from above to circle him._

* * *

 The first jump that Shiro cleared in four years was a cavaletti. But it was enough for Castle to pick up his feet.

Ulaz came to the barn every day that week, and Coran joined their lessons so that he could learn what helped Shiro the most. The cavaletti slowly inched up from the ground, until it became a small crossrail, and then a slightly bigger crossrail, and then a vertical hardly a foot off the ground—hardly a foot, but a heck ton of progress.

And Shiro ignored it. He did what he needed to, stayed out of the saddle, gave the horse his head, and then he poured all of his focus into Keith’s Tree. Sometimes he slipped up, sometimes he looked at the jump and felt his throat close up, but Ulaz—and then Coran—would remind him, “Keith Tree!” And his gaze would snap to the missing patch of leaves, and whatever horse he was on—Castle, or Platt, or Chuchule—would jump as smoothly as ever.

And Keith was at every lesson, watching from the rail or from Red, cheering supportively every time Shiro rode away from a jump.

At the end of the week, Ulaz decided that Coran was well-enough-equipped to continue Shiro’s lessons. “But,” he said, “I’ll check in every week. And don’t hesitate to call if you have questions or concerns. You’ve made a lot of progress, Shiro. You have a lot to be proud of.”

Shiro thanked him, possibly a hundred times.

It was the end of the week, and he had a weekend to look forward to, but first he had things to do. He led Chuchule back to the barn to untack and groom her; she was sweating slightly in the summer heat, but he’d cooled her out before getting off. She nudged his shoulder, nickering sweetly. Shiro hummed as he brushed her out and sponged her sweaty spots.

_You already have so much to be proud of._

The words echoed in his head, echoed through time. They weren’t quite the same; Shiro didn’t like remembering that day, but it stuck in his mind regardless. He shook his head as if he could shake the memories away.

He finished with Chuchule and put her away, and then went to Queenie. After each jumping lesson, he’d ridden Queenie—she _was_ still his horse, after all—but they didn’t work too hard. He’d ride her more this weekend. They didn’t have a test approaching, but he liked to keep her fine-tuned.

As usual, Queenie was an absolute dream, just as she always was. Shiro warmed her up, then practiced their extended trot and passage.

It was late afternoon when he wrapped things up. He put Queenie away and made his way back to his truck, loaded with all of his saddlepads that he needed to wash. The drive home was an uneventful forty-five minutes. He pulled into his driveway, lugged his horse’s laundry into the house, started the washing machine, and pulled leftovers out of the fridge.

He’d tried to distract himself, but the memories hovered at the edge of Shiro’s mind. _You’ve broken all the records, you already have so much to be proud of! If you keep this up, you’re going to get yourself killed!_

Shiro sighed sadly, and set aside his plate. He sank into his couch and pulled a pillow to his chest, folding his legs in front of him, burying his face in the pillow and trying not to cry.

* * *

  _Five years ago…_

_Adam was waiting for him at the trailer. Shiro’s elated grin faded when he saw the expression on Adam’s face; he dismounted Kerberos and began untacking, tying his lead rope to the baling twine on one of the trailer’s hoops when he had a halter on, all in silence._

_Until Adam broke it._

_“He slipped.” It was a statement._

_Shiro shrugged. “It’s been raining. Mud isn’t uncommon.”_

_“All four of his feet slipped. Sideways. They way horses’ feet slip sideways when they fall and hurt themselves.”_

_“But he got his feet back,” Shiro argued. “It could have been worse—”_

_Wrong choice of words._

_“That’s exactly my point, Takashi!” Adam said loudly. Kerberos tossed his head. “You knew it had been raining, you knew it was less than safe, but you went ahead and risked your life anyway!”_

_“Don’t start this again, Adam,” Shiro pleaded. “You don’t need to protect me! Kerberos and I—we know what we’re doing.”_

_“That’s what all the hotshots say,” Adam spat, “right before they fall and crack their heads open, and end up a vegetable in a hospital bed. I’ve been right there with you every step of the way to get here, but now you’re going too fast, Takashi! You might not run yourself and your horse into the ground, but you might find the ground running up to meet_ **_you_ ** _instead.”_

_“This is what Kerberos loves, Adam,” Shiro said. “This is what_ **_I_ ** _love.”_

_Adam’s eyes turned cold. “Funny,” he said flatly, “I thought you loved me.”_

_Oh no._

_Ice filled Shiro’s chest, settled in his stomach. “Adam,” he breathed, but Adam turned on his heel and climbed into his truck, which was parked next to Iverson’s._

_And then he was gone. Shiro was left standing there, blinking away tears. The scores were announced over the PA system, “Takashi Shirogane with Kerberos, first overall…”_

_They pronounced his name wrong. They always, always pronounced his name wrong. This is when Adam would repeat it mockingly, and then marvel at how they always got Kerberos right, but Adam was gone._

_Keith and Iverson returned from wherever they had been. Keith had been looking at some of the horses being shown to be sold, and he was running up to Shiro with a huge grin, no doubt to congratulate him._

_Shiro composed himself enough to accept Keith’s congratulations, Iverson’s satisfied-but-secretly-super-proud nod. Matt and Mission were coming back from their walk around the parking lot._

_They all knew something was up. Matt noticed immediately that Adam was gone, and he looked at Shiro, worried, but Shiro just wanted to put Kerberos on the trailer and get home._

_They only stopped at the office, so that Keith could pick up Shiro’s ribbon. Red and blue and gold. A picture of a horse in the center of the circle; a generic bay that still somehow reminded Shiro of Adam’s mare._

_Red and blue and gold blurred together. He was silent on the drive back to the Garrison, breathing evenly as tears dripped down his nose._

_God, he’d fucked up._

* * *

Turned out Adam had been right.

But dammit, Shiro wasn’t about to let that stop him. Yes, he’d fucked up, or maybe it was just bad luck (Shiro didn’t actually remember the fall itself), and he’d gotten hurt, and the best horse in the whole fucking world got killed, _but he would come back._ It was something he loved, to fly on borrowed wings, and he would fly again.

* * *

Weeks passed, and then months. The jump height inched ever upward, but the next challenge was to ride a course.

Once Shiro could ride over a three-foot fence, Coran arranged a small, dynamic course of four fences, which could be ridden in any number of patterns. The only issue lay in the fact that Shiro had been relying on the patchy tree as his focus to keep his eyes off of the fence.

“Ulaz warned me about that,” Coran said, chipper as always. “So, Shiro, we’re going to walk the course, and for each fence, in each direction, we’re going to find you a focus. I’m going to write it here, on my notepad, so that if I see you looking at the fence, I can remind you what to look for.”

“Sounds good,” Shiro said on a shaky exhale. And that’s exactly what they did, and then Shiro found himself in Castle’s saddle warming up, and the focuses for each of the jumps completely gone from his mind.

But Coran was prepared for that. He had Shiro warm up over each fence individually, in each direction, calling out what he was supposed to focus on until Shiro cleared the fences without hesitation.

From that victory, Coran expanded the courses. Shiro didn’t have a jumping lesson every day, but when he did the entire arena was dedicated to it, until Coran could devise a course that used almost all of the jumps on Meadows’ property (Shiro rode Chuchule for that particular lesson).

The jumps were three-foot-six, the courses were ten—eleven—twelve jumps long, and Shiro grinned like a fool the whole time. It was hard work, and by now eleven months had passed since he’d first ridden Castle over that cavaletti, but he’d _done it._

To celebrate, Coran, Allura, and Keith arranged a night out. They reserved three tables at Shiro’s favorite restaurant; the whole barn was invited, and Shiro’s parents were invited, and Lance’s relatives tagged along, Ulaz came along with his husband Thace, and even Iverson showed up, clapping Shiro soundly on the shoulder, pride glinting in his good eye.

The table was filled with laughter and regular toasts—to Shiro, to courage, to horses—and there was one question that floated around, constantly repeated:

“Are you going to start competing again?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ADAM! D: (i’m kidding im super excited just wait till the end)
> 
> it’s 3 in the morning but I’m still gonna write out the terminology!
> 
> Crossrail: a jump made of two poles making an X.
> 
> Cavaletti: a teeny tiny crossrail, barely off the ground, basically fancy poles.
> 
> Vertical: not actually vertical, funny enough. A horizontal pole lifted off the ground. When you’re starting out, these are terrifying, no matter if they’re smaller than the crossrails you’ve done. They’re just scary.
> 
> Baling twine: Important stuff! Breakable rope-stuff that you attach to hoops so that you can tie a leadrope to it; you want it breakable so that if something happens (horse freaks out, building falls down, trailer rolls away, etc.) the horse can break away from it.
> 
> Extended trot: exactly what it sounds like; I don’t actually know what all is going on, but the stride is longer, and the front legs are ‘extended’.
> 
> Passage: pronounced paa-saaj. Fancy trot, lots of height and power. It’s so pretty. Friesians do it best, in my opinion.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed! I should get some sleep but this is exciting. I’ll try to come up with a compromise. Stay tuned for more! <3


	3. This Ain’t a Fairytale, But it Could Be

_Fog swirled around him as the lights became brilliant wings, and a white horse galloped out of the gray to claim them. The horse tossed his head and neighed again, calling for him to follow as he leapt into the sky._

* * *

 Truth be told, Shiro would love to compete again. But none of the schoolies really were going to be able to handle it, not for long, and they already had jobs as _schoolies._ At the same time, Shiro already had a horse to care for.

In the meantime, Coran made him a deal. “Take Chuchule to a small jumper show,” he said. “If you enjoy yourself, and want to continue competing, even in environments where you don’t have immediately familiar focuses, I will assist you however I can in horse shopping.”

“Thank you so much, Coran,” Shiro said sincerely.

Coran gave him a mustachioed grin. “Of course, my boy, but remember! You have yourself, and your incredible strength, courage, and determination to truly thank! I’ll do some research and find a local show, and let you know tomorrow what I find.”

Shiro drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Keith fidgeted in the passenger seat; Lance was stretched out in the back, napping. Shiro could feel vibrations beneath his feet as Chuchule, Red, and Bluebell shifted in the trailer. Coran and Ulaz were in another vehicle ahead of them, and Coran’s license plate, GRGS MAN, was easy to catch sight of.

“Nervous?” Keith asked, breaking the tense silence.

“Course I am,” Shiro murmured.

The silence returned, and stretched. Then, “You’re gonna do great,” said Keith, his voice colored with utter conviction.

“You and Lance, too,” Shiro replied.

Silence again.

Keith leaned forward and turned on the radio. The sky was still gray in civil twilight. The country station that came on made the whole situation strange and surreal.

He was really doing this, Shiro realized. He was going to another stable, with a horse who wasn’t his, riding jumps he’d never ridden, in front of people he’d never met (and probably some he had), after not jumping in competition for almost six years.

The barn, Smalltown Stables, was a little over an hour’s drive from Juniberry Meadows. As they pulled in, the sun was just beginning to rise, and the field marked off for a parking lot was already half full. Coran checked them in, and then led them to their parking spot.

As soon as Shiro’s truck was in park, Keith leapt out, tapping sharply on the backseat window to startle Lance out of his dozing.

Shiro and Chuchule were in the second class of the day, the two-foot course. Keith and Lance were both competing at three-six, in the middle of the day. As they got their own horses ready, Coran gave them all their numbers and rattled off when they would need to be tacked up, where they would go to warm up, what to say to the stewards. Shiro focused on his breathing, keeping it timed to each stroke of the brush across Chuchule’s coat.

The sweet bay mare was very curious about everything going on. She craned her head around, ears pricked, eyes wide.

Bluebell was tied beside her, rather bored with the small-scale show. Lance hummed cheerfully as he groomed her, dancing slightly as he did so.

Red was at the end of the trailer. She kept pressing her nose to Keith’s shoulder, nudging him off-balance. Shiro noticed that Keith kept sneaking glances at Bluebell… or perhaps Bluebell’s rider, swaying his hips obliviously.

Shiro exchanged a knowing look with Chuchule.

Suddenly, she was tacked up, he was dressed in a borrowed shortcoat, his boots were polished, and his helmet was pressed firmly onto his head. Ulaz walked with him to the warm-up arena, and said something to the steward, who nodded.

Coran was suddenly there as well. He took Chuchule’s reins, and then Ulaz gestured to the empty arena, where there were a few riders milling about, walking their courses. Shiro couldn’t quite hear what anyone was saying, not over the strange rushing noise in his ears, as if he was listening to the sounds of the ocean in a seashell. But Ulaz gestured at the arena again, and began walking to the gate, so Shiro followed.

 _I need to find what I’ll focus on for each jump,_ he realized. That must be what Ulaz was helping him do.

His therapist—and, at this point, Ulaz was also a friend—held a map of the course in his hand. The static in his ears calmed, and Shiro could finally understand what he was saying.

“There are eight jumps,” Ulaz told him, leading him along where he’d go. “You’ll start here, pick up your canter, set your pace, and come to this jump. Focus on the lamppost. After the lamppost, keep a steady pace… you’ll come to this jump, where you’ll focus on the purple trailer. After the purple trailer, you’ll come over here… go around the outside of this jump… and you’ll look at the judge’s box while you jump this line…” And so on. Eight jumps; four singles, two double lines. Shiro didn’t spare a glance for the jumps themselves, but rather the points he was going to focus on: lamppost, trailer, judge’s box, flag, pine tree, and the trailer again.

“And when you’re in the air,” Ulaz reminded him, “you should be looking for your next focus.”

“Got it,” Shiro said. He was actually… well, he felt ready.

* * *

 Adam liked bringing his students to small shows like these to help build their confidence. Smalltown Stables had just the right kind of crowd for them, especially the four he had with him today: James, with his mare Maggie; Ryan and his gelding Furioso; Nadia with her leased gelding Elliot; and Ina, who was riding one of Adam’s current projects, a young chestnut mare named Ruby.

The four of them were some of the best riders at the Garrison, but hadn’t yet been out in competition. James and Nadia were definitely the most visibly excited; Ryan was calm and collected; Ina was observing and analyzing and calculating, as she always was. Now in particular, Ina was looking for something to analyze, so Adam suggested that they head to the arena to get a good look at the course. It was the same course for all of the classes, so even if classes had started, they could probably walk it between classes, while the heights were being changed.

The two-foot class was riding. Adam and his students arrived to see the last few jumps of a little girl on a sassy gray pony, grinning from ear to ear.

“How many riders in this class?” Adam asked the steward. She looked at her clipboard. “Three,” she told him, and then called into the warm-up area, “Number eight! You’re next.”

Adam and his students watched from the rail as number eight trotted into the ring. The horse was a bay mare, probably a quarter horse, just slightly too small for her rider. Her rider sat tall in the saddle, with a position worthy of the highest class of dressage, in a shortcoat that stretched a bit too tight across his broad shoulders, and sleeves that didn’t quite match the length of his arms. As he picked up his canter, he was already looking for his jump—no, not the jump, he looked up past it, focusing on something else.

He caught James’s attention. “See how he’s looking up? He’s found something to focus on, so he doesn’t look down.”

James frowned indignantly. “I’ve gotten better at keeping my eyes up,” he pointed out.

“There’s always room for improvement,” Adam told him. He turned his attention back to the ride. Whoever this guy was, he was _way_ too good for a two-foot class… maybe he was showing the horse? But the mare took every jump with the ease of a practiced professional. She looked _bored._ Definitely a schoolie.

The rider turned to ride a line, directly at Adam, and he could get a good look at the rider’s face.

Adam felt his heart twist painfully.

The rider’s face was sharper, he had a new scar across his nose, and _was that white hair peeking from below his helmet?_ But it was undoubtedly, undeniably, _unmistakably_ Takashi Shirogane.

* * *

 A red ribbon.

Second place, out of ten riders in the class—the blue had gone to a little girl with a gray pony and a winning smile.

Shiro couldn’t be happier. He beamed all the way back to the trailer, Chuchule’s neck stretched low, reins long and loose. Keith and Lance chattered excitedly beside him, repeating cheerful exclamations of, “That was awesome!” “You did it!” “You were amazing!”

All of them buzzed with excitement; Shiro pulled Keith and Lance into a hug when they reached the trailer, and then tugged Coran and Ulaz into it, too, all of them laughing. Shiro’s face was starting to hurt, he just _couldn’t stop smiling._

“So,” Coran laughed, “do you want to start competing again?”

“Yes!” Shiro exclaimed gleefully. He rubbed Chuchule’s neck, taking care as he brushed her down to back brush her sweaty spots. “The schoolies are great, but man, I really would love to get back into regular competition.”

Coran nodded decisively. “Very well! I already have a few horses I’d like to take you to take a look at… but for now, let’s finish up here and go cheer on our boys.”

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t worry, he’ll be coming along soon... soon.
> 
> I had a lot of emotions after season 7. Find me on tumblr @falconfate if you want to ask me about them, I have too many to put them here, but in short I both loved and hated it. 
> 
> Terminology:
> 
> Half-seat, two point, jumping position: At my barn, these are interchangable... although I’ve been led to believe that they shouldn’t be (If so, then jumping position is probably what I really mean). At any rate, it’s when you lift yourself out of the saddle and balance in your stirrups to change your center of gravity so that it’s easier for the horse to jump. 
> 
> Schoolie: lesson horse, school horse, etc. A horse owned by a trainer or training barn, whose job is to be ridden by learning riders.


End file.
